


An Item of Mutual Interest

by Tamoline



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because Reese isn't telling her everything, it doesn't mean that she can't try and find things out for herself</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because we're in the UK, we've just finished series 1. So nothing from series 2 will be featuring. This particular story takes places shortly after 1.13 Root Cause, and contains some mild spoilers.

I was relaxing in my favourite diner, enjoying a love affair with my first cup of coffee of the morning, when it happened.

The prickle at the back of my neck that I was becoming all too used to, these days.

I was being watched.

Great.

Just another morning in the comedy my life has become, I thought a little sourly.

I carefully didn't look around, didn't let on that I'd become aware of whoever it was this time. I was just about to start scouting out possibilities in the reflection of a window when the putative search became moot.

My watcher came over and sat next to me, eyeing me in a not particularly covert fashion.

I returned the favour.

Okay, she wasn't a cop. Not CIA either, not in those clothes. The spooks might like to think they're above the rest of us ordinary law enforcement folk, but they're still government employees. They're not paid *that* much better than us, and she was dressed expensively. 

Far too expensively for this place. 

Perfect make-up, professionally done highlights in her hair, heels that made my feet hurt just looking at them.

Attractive, too, and she knew it.

Figured.

So.

Time to find out what she wanted.

"Something interesting about me?" I asked after a few moments.

She flashed me a smile that was probably supposed to be winning. "I'm Zoe, Detective Carter. And I'd like to think that we can help each other."

Huh. We could help each other, could we?

Not a potential CI, not in that get up. She knew who I was, and that must mean that she knew I was in Homicide, not any kind of white collar crime. And if she was going to come forward as a witness, then I was sure that she could afford to have a lawyer do it for her.

Conwoman, then? Or something more dangerous?

Still, best to let her talk, and see if she let anything slip.

"What can you do for me, Zoe?"

"I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. A well-dressed man of rather uncommon skills."

I took a long sip of coffee, only just managing to hold in a sigh.

I really should have known.

"I don't know who you're talking about."

Zoe shot me a Look.

"Please, detective. I know you were hunting him until recently when feds came into town and took over. Among other things."

"That's official business. And I haven't seen any kind of ID out of you yet, so that means that you should know I can't discuss it with you. Not even to confirm or deny it."

"So you wouldn't be interested in learning more about him?"

I gritted my teeth. "No," I lied.

She studied me for a moment, with a small smile on her face. "Well, let me tell you what I think. You've got a reputation as a clean cop, a bulldog who won't stop going after her man. Even if she's been officially retired from the case. Or another agency has grabbed it. So the options that I see are either that you're still after him, or that, despite your rep, you've caved to pressure." One side of her mouth jerked upwards at that, as if she was fully aware of how much her words irritated me.

"Well, congratulation, Sherlock Holmes," I said sardonically, draining my coffee and getting to my feet. "I've got a proper job to get to now, so if you don't mind..."

"There is, of course, the third option," she said, seemingly unaffected by my brushoff.

Despite myself, I stopped. "Third option?" I asked, my pulse picking up a little. She seemed like trouble, and John and his friend were already more trouble than I really wanted to deal with.

She smiled more fully. "You're a detective. I'm sure you can figure it out. And I think that I'm liking that third option more and more." She handed me a card. "Here's a contact number. If you want to discuss our mutual acquaintance in more depth."

I took the card. It simply had 'Zoe' and a mobile number on it. I raised an eyebrow. "You had cards printed like this?"

She shrugged. "I find it adds a certain mystique. Oh, and Detective? You might want to avoid telling anyone about this meeting. At least if you decide that you do want to know more."

I tapped the card thoughtfully on my other hand. "And why would you want me to do that? Isn't it counter to that friendly air you're trying so hard to project?" I didn't quite ask 'Wouldn't that make you harder to check out?' but I was fairly sure she understood that anyway.

"I'll give you my reasons next time we meet, detective. If you don't like them, you can always change your mind then."

"Next time?" I raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember agreeing to a next time."

"Put it down to my faith in your curiosity," she said, and smiled. "Now, didn't you have a job to go to?" She added, then turned towards the counter and effortlessly managed to gain the barista’s attention.

I hesitated for a moment, unwilling to just follow her commands, but finally walked over to the door, cursing mentally.

Outside, in fresh air, I debated throwing her card away. I debated hanging around and following her, to see if I could learn anything.

But, in the end, I didn't have that long before the work day started and I didn't need to add any more red flags than the ones John was already having me raise. 

So I got into my car and drove away, the card burning a hole in my pocket.

 

My phone rang. My *other* phone. Blocked number. No prizes for guessing who this was.

I hadn't phoned John yet about the woman. 

On the one hand, that was damning enough already. But if I talked to him and didn't mention it? Or, worse, actually had to lie about it...?

On the other hand, it was hardly as though he'd been immensely forthcoming with me, either.

Tell your CI the minimum possible, need to know and all that jazz. I was familiar with the theory, both from the other side as a cop and from both sides when I was in the military.

Didn't meant that I had to like it, especially when I was risking my career and my future -- not to mention *Taylor's* future -- helping him.

Doing the right thing. Stopping crimes, not just mopping up after them.

On the one hand, I knew that it was safer not to know too much. Certainly safer for him. What I didn't know, I couldn't betray.

On the other hand, with access to the information he evidently had, couldn't I, couldn't we, the police force, save far more lives than one man on the sharp end? No matter how good with violence he was.

I answered the phone without having decided one way or another.

"Detective," came his soft voice. "I need you to look into someone for me."

Of course he did.

'There was a woman today...' I almost started, but he was already reeling off the information he had, and the information he needed.

'There was a woman today...' but instead I asked: "So, any chance that you're going to share how you found all this out *without* managing to also get the info you need from me?"

I didn't have to be able to see him to be able to imagine the half smile that he was undoubtedly making as he said, "You know I can't do that."

'There was a woman today...' but all I actually said was: "I'll look into that for you, and get back to you as quickly as possible."

"Thanks, Detective," he said, and unceremoniously hung up.

"There was a woman today..." I said to the dead air, but it was too late and somewhere during that conversation, I'd already made up my mind.

 

It was just as well that working in a police station came with easy access to phones that pretty much anyone could use. 

Because this was getting truly ridiculous.

The Feds and the CIA were probably monitoring my cell phone and office phone 'just in case'. And there was no way I was using the phone that John had given me for this call. Not only would it compromise the phone if Zoe did turn out to be untrustworthy, I just knew that John or his little friend would be keeping an eye on its usage.

I could get a burner phone, I guessed, but on my wages? For something that may very well not pan out?

Yeah. No chance.

Of course, if this did become a regular thing, I probably would have to invest in that third phone. 

Christ.

The comedy that my life has become.

I dialled in the number.

"Zoe?" I asked as someone picked up.

"Detective Carter," replied the voice from the diner.

"You said that you'd explain more in a second meeting."

"So you're interested in talking about the item of mutual interest."

It wasn't really a question, and the certainty in her voice put my hackles up.

"Let's just say that I haven't ruled it out," I said, trying not to grit my teeth.

"I guess that I'll just have to persuade you," she said, and I could tell that she was smiling, even over the phone.

A smartass. Great.

"Well you're not there yet. Where and when would you like to meet?"

"Corner of fifth and eighth at 8 o'clock. I'll pick you up in a car."

"You forget I work in homicide, lady. I've seen that situation play out too often to trust that it's going to end well."

She laughed. "Paranoid. I like that. Okay, then, detective. What would you suggest?"

"I guess picking you up in my car is out of the question," I said a little wryly, and was treated to another one of her laughs. "Fine then. There any reason we have to be completely cloak and dagger about this? Can't we just meet up like ordinary folks?"

"Why, Detective Carter, are you asking me out on a *date*?" she asked, a little mockingly.

I could feel heat rush to my cheeks. That just made me want to grind my teeth that much harder.

She took my pause as licence to continue. "Because I do have to warn you, I don't put out until the third date."

Fine. If that was the way she wanted to play it. "It's a good thing we've already had our first date this morning, then, isn't it?" I returned.

Her laugh this time was one of utter delight. "Nicely played," she said, a clear note of admiration in her voice. "I guess my budget would spring to dinner. Where would you suggest?"

I gave her the name of a diner that I knew in a lower rent part of town. Not one I tended to frequent often, but there was a fairly isolated booth near the back. "You might want to dress down a little there, Zoe. Wouldn't want you to stand out too much, would we?"

"I'll go shopping for an outfit right away," she said dryly. "Anything else?"

"I wouldn't say no to a rose. However clichéd it is." Two could play at being a smartass, Zoe.

"I'll bear it in mind, Jocelyn. I can call you that, can't I? I find detective a little formal for a date."

It wasn't a bad idea. Being police was instantly memorable, and why make waves if I didn't have to?

"Joss. Only my mother calls me Jocelyn."

"Joss it is then. See you tonight." She hung up.

I was already beginning to regret the rose line, because I just knew she was going to actually bring one. 

I'd have to make doubly sure to lose any watchers tonight. 

Being caught talking to John was one thing. 

Being caught on a 'date' with Zoe? *That'd* be around the precinct before she'd finished handing me the flower.

 

Zoe did indeed dress down remarkably well, wearing clothes a world away from the threads that she'd had on this morning, her hair bound back in a ponytail that hid the expensive styling that had been so evident earlier.

She was also, of course, carrying a rose.

Which she handed to me as she bent down and brushed her lips against mine.

"Cut that shit out," I murmured, low but harsh.

She leaned back and sat down. From a distance, the smile on her face probably looked pleased, natural.

From a distance, they couldn't see the gleam in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Joss. Was that a bit forward?" she asked.

My smile probably wasn't anywhere near so natural. "Not at all," I ground out. "Just a little bit of a surprise."

She glanced down at the menu. "So. What's good?"

"Burger and fries. Shake. Plain and simple."

"Why, Joss, is that any way to treat a prospective girlfriend?"

I was getting less and less amused. "Do you want to actually talk about anything serious, or is all this just your idea of a joke?"

She rooted inside her handbag for a moment, then looked up. She was still smiling, but now her eyes were all business. "Okay. How about this? Our mutual friend helped me out a while back. I've been asked to return the favour once, but I can already tell it's not a one off thing."

The waitress bustled over and the conversation was put on pause.

"Return the favour?" I asked she moved away again. I knew what kind of cases I was called in on. That didn't mean that was the only kind John did.

"Help save another poor soul," she deadpanned. "Though I doubt that he's going to be as useful on a continuing basis."

Which was at least a little reassuring. "So, what's the problem?"

"I deal in favours and information. And I like to think I'm pretty good at what I do. But our friend knew I was in trouble before I did, even if not all of the details. That takes an organisation and money. And an agenda. Colour me a little worried about what I'm getting into."

"From what I can tell, his agenda appears to be saving people."

"That's what I've been told too. But you're police. You know how hard it would be to find out that kind of thing before it happens. The amount of people and cash that has to be involved should create waves." She huffed, a look of exasperation showing through her facade. "I looked. There's nothing. Just a lot of people who want to know who's been sticking their noses in things. Generally with the aid of military grade weapons."

"Maybe he's rich. Or has a rich backer. Maybe they just want to help save people."

"You and I both know that there are far better ways to help save people than just send one man out, time and again, to clean the streets of New York up by himself."

"Does the kind of man who would be willing to do what our friend does strike you as the type to do his good deeds at a remove, through charity?"

She waved one hand. "Maybe. That is an agenda. And if all that is, then I'll be happy. But if I'm going to get sucked into helping, I really want to be sure."

Yeah, plus if her trade really was favours and information, she struck me as the kind to have an awful lot of wounded pride bound up in finding out those answers.

"That's all well and good, Zoe. But I fail to see where I come into this."

She looked a little amused. "Oh, that's simple. Our friend needs information that the police have got access to, far more regularly than he needs me. I know that he's saved you, Joss. Has he called in your marker too, yet?"

"It's not like that," I protested, uncomfortable with the way that she described it. I wouldn't have just sold out because he saved my bacon.

She propped her head up on interlaced fingers. "What is it like, then?"

Here it was.

Did I admit that I had contact with him?

Could I trust her?

How did I know that she wasn't just feeding me a line of bull, wasn't working with the CIA or some other agency, trying to trap John?

I wasn't going to fall for that again.

I shrugged. "I'm not saying that it's like anything. I'm going to need some more details here. Zoe. You say our friend saved you? Give me some information that I can corroborate. I've managed to follow him enough to know that as good as he is? He leaves a trail. And, since you seem to know all about me, your name wouldn't hurt, either."

She nodded. "Fair enough. I'm Zoe Morgan. I was involved in the takedown of Virtanen. Not to mention Lieutenant Gilmore." She must have seen me tense. "Dirty cop. He was paid off by Virtanen to look the other way whilst I was killed." She shrugged. "It didn't take." She gave me a few more details that I could check out. "Is that enough, detective?"

"Even if this does pan out, you still haven't told me why you think I would help you."

"A couple of reasons. Firstly, if you are helping him, I can't imagine that you don't want to know these answers as much as I do. After all, by getting access to his sources of information, I bet you could clear a hell of a lot more of your caseload. Instead of slipping ever further behind. By working together, we can hopefully find out much more than we can apart." She took a sip of water and just looked at me for a minute.

"And secondly?" I asked, after fruitlessly waiting for her to continue.

"Secondly? Like I said, Joss, you've got a reputation for being a good cop. If I manage to find this out by myself, well, the temptation would always be there to use it." She smiled, suddenly, the expression transforming her face. "Maybe with you around, I can keep myself a little more honest."

Our dinner arrived, and I took the opportunity to think for a while.

Finally, after mopping up some sauce with a fry and chewing on it thoughtfully, I said: "I'm not saying anything. I still haven't checked your story out, yet, and if I find anything at all fishy..."

She shrugged. "And if you don't?"

I didn't answer, and just took another bite of my burger. But from the look in her eyes, I didn't need to say a thing. She could read what I'd left unspoken.

You'd have yourself a deal, lady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, feedback would be awesome, as would knowing if anyone would like me to continue this story.


	2. Chapter 2

Zoe Morgan wasn't on the system, naturally.

Well, not on the system that I had easiest access to anyway.

I wasn't entirely surprised. She seemed too smooth to be the kind of criminal that actually got caught.

I debated with myself for a while, pushing the matter aside whilst I got on with actually doing my job, and finally submitted the appropriate requests and made the relevant phone calls.

I wanted to know more about who I was thinking about getting into bed with, dammit.

Metaphorically speaking.

The pictures came back, and I finally managed to put an ID to *my* Zoe Morgan. Whose identity didn't appear to be faked, a little to my surprise.

No arrests. No tickets, even. Though that might be because she didn't have a car.

A perfect, clean little slate.

Her father wasn't quite so clean, of course, but that didn't seem exactly relevant to my interests.

Her occupation was listed as a self-employed consultant, which apparently paid enough for a nice house. Exactly what she was consulted about was left unclear. Though given the amount of information she'd been flashing around, I could hazard a guess.

Time to check up on the other elements of her story.

Gilmore I already knew about, but several of the details I hadn't. The facts she related matched those in the police reports. Naturally. And there were a couple of things - like precise, economical little lock pick marks on the doors to the Virtanen building, that hadn't been on any police report.

All in all, the facts supported what she'd told me.

She'd been in trouble, and John had helped her.

Of course, that by itself wasn't any proof of virtue. It just meant that there had been a threat to her life.

John had warned me about this little wrinkle in what they did, and I had even encountered one such case in the time I'd been helping him.

But the fact that she had been called in again did speak for her.

Assuming, of course, that John was on the level. Which she'd managed to neatly cast doubt on.

Damn.

The thing was, I really did need to know more about John's little operation. Not just to satisfy my own sense of curiosity, but because I needed to know that what I was doing was right.

How much I could trust *her* was an open question. But the fact that been quite open about her lack of bona fides was a point in her favour, I had to admit.

In the end, the same factors that pushed me to agree to a second meeting prompted me to set up the third.

She chose the place this time. Said it was only fair, since I'd picked the last one. I thought about protesting, but somehow the objections never made it out of my mouth. 

If I hadn't known better, I could've sworn she sounded almost disappointed at the lack of argument.

Actually, strike that. I did know better, and she definitely did sound disappointed.

It might have only been a minor victory, but when it came to Zoe Morgan, I'd take them where I could get them.

 

I parked my car a couple of blocks down from the restaurant, taking a roundabout route that doubled my walking distance, but did wonders for my peace of mind.

I hadn't picked up any new tails, and the stroll gave me the chance to walk of some of the tension that had been hunching my shoulders and tightening my neck.

By the time the restaurant came into view, I was feeling a little less like a cat on a hot tin roof and a little more like a reasonable human being.

Well, as close to that as I ever got.

I felt my eyebrows try to climb into my hairline as the doorman - there was a doorman - ushered me inside. This place seemed a little... fancier than I'd expected from its website. Not 'you must own a several yachts and a racehorse in order to even think about stepping through the door' fancy, but still. A lot better than the places I could afford to eat at.

And a damn sight fancier than the diner I'd picked, that's for sure.

I had a momentary urge to smooth down my pantsuit and comb my fingers through my hair, but it faded quickly. I outgrew that kind of bullshit a long time ago.

I stopped before the maître d', who looked up with a smile. "Good evening. Can I 'elp you?" he asked, in the most outrageous (and outrageously fake) French accent I ever heard.

"I'm here to meet someone. Name of Morgan?"

He didn't even check the reservation book, his polite smile broadening into something that actually looked genuine. "Ah, yes. Ms Morgan is already 'ere. Let me take your coat..." I reluctantly allowed it, wondering if I needed to worry about people slipping things into my pockets while it was out of my sight. But it would draw more attention to refuse. "Now," he continued. "If you'll follow me, I will show you to your table." He continued talking as he led me between the mostly occupied tables, looking back over his shoulder in a way that made me worry about collisions. "It's the finest seat in the 'ouse. Nothing but the best for the delightful Ms Morgan and 'er friends. If you need anything, anything at all, do not 'esitate to ask. We want you to 'ave a wonderful evening."

"Thanks," I said, slowly. The 'delightful Ms Morgan,' eh?

I only hoped the chef was better at cooking food than the maître d' was at judging characters.

And, speaking of the devil herself...

Zoe Morgan was seated demurely - ha! - at the best table in the house, her eyes on her phone. She looked up at our approach - hard to sneak up with Mr Chatterbox leading the way - and smiled brilliantly.

It took me a moment to realise that the smile wasn't aimed at me.

Which was good. Because if it had been, it would have been with the express intent of getting me off guard. And I wasn't. I may have only met her twice, but I was on to her tricks.

Only when she'd thoroughly dazzled that poor maître d' - Jacques, she called him - did she actually look at me.

"Hello, Joss," she said brightly. "Lovely to see you."

"Zoe." I nodded politely to her. 'Jacques' - in my head, he was now Jackie-boy - pulled out my chair for me and I sat down.

"Your waiter will be along shortly to take your drink orders and tell you about today's specials," he announced brightly. "Au revoir, ladies. 'Ave a wonderful evening."

"Thank you, Jacques, I'm sure we will," Zoe smiled. I said nothing. She turned her attention to me. "No flower, Joss?" she asked, pouting. "I'm disappointed."

"I'm sure 'Jacques' would get you a whole garden if you flutter your eyelashes at him some more," I said.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I'd made a mistake. Zoe grinned like a cat that had spotted a mouse.

"Why, Detective Carter. Is that jealousy I hear?"

I glowered. "Only if you're delusional."

She laughed delightedly. "Oh, you needn't worry about Jacques. He's just a very dear friend."

"And that's his real name, is it?" I couldn't help asking.

"Close enough. Anyway, enough about him. It really is lovely to see you again." She actually reached across the table and briefly rested her hand on mine. I stared at the place she'd touched as if I could erase it with the power of my mind, before returning my gaze to its rightful place.

Great. I'd only just got here and she was already playing games.

"Well, I'm reserving judgement until we see where this ends up," I said, flatly.

"So cautious," she said, smiling. "And yet, you were the one who called me." She leaned in, lowering her voice. "If you keep on taking me out for dinner like this, Joss, I might start to think you want something from me."

I could really start to hate her, I had time to think briefly before forcing a smile onto my face.

"Oh, trust me," I said. "I may think many things of you, but easy wouldn't be one of them."

She dimpled. Attractively, damn her. "You really will turn my head with talk like that."

She retrieved her handbag from under the table and rooted through it briefly.

Just like she had on our second 'date'.

"What have you got in there, dear?" I asked.

"Check your phone," she said.

No bars.

"Some kind of jammer, " I hazarded.

"See, you're not just a pretty face," she said, and smirked as I glared at her before continuing. "Ever since meeting our friend for the first time, I've become a little more paranoid about personal security. I wanted to make sure that we didn't have anyone listening in."

I gritted my teeth. "If you don't think I'm being honest with you, why are we even here?" I asked.

"Did you know a smart phone can be infected with malware that can turn it into a bug?" she asked. "I didn't, before I talked to an acquaintance of mine. Do you have a problem with the precaution?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. I've got a teenage son who might need to get a hold of me. Not to mention that I'm pretty much always on call. You really that paranoid we're been listened in on?"

She smiled coolly at me. "You know our friend better than I do. And you're the one with surveillance problems. You tell me."

I hated to admit it, but she had a point. If Snow had been telling the truth just a little bit, John was an ex-spook. And God knew what skills Finch had that John would treat him as an equal.

"Won't having periodic dead spots cause them to suspect that something's wrong?"

"If they start acting differently, that tells you something by itself, doesn't it?"

Though, really, they'd have problems giving me much *less* information. If it wasn't for the fact that I consistently saw the results, I wouldn't have stood for it this long.

"Fine," I said. "But you gotta know I'm a busy woman, and I'm going to be able to afford less of these meetings if we have to go all radio silence each time."

"Don't you appreciate a little alone time with me, Joss?" she asked, lowering her voice and looking through her eyelashes at me.

I rolled my eyes at her antics.

"Yeah, yeah. Shall we get down to business?"

"Well, it *is* the third date." She leaned forward, so close that I could feel her breath on my lips. Her voice was low and sultry, almost a purr. "That means it's time to put out. I've shown you mine." As she said that, I suddenly became uncomfortably aware that if she moved half an inch further I would be able to see right down her top. "Don't you think you should return the favour?"

For a moment, the world paused.

Then, before I could take a breath to tell Zoe to cut that shit out, the promised waiter showed up. I cursed her mentally for the way he glanced between us, a look of apology on his face, before asking if he could tell us about the specials.

We ordered drinks and food. I was just going to have a salad, but then I thought 'to hell with it,' and went for the steak. Zoe had already offered to pay, and I was going to let her.

She did choose this place, and I bet a consultant makes way, *way* more than a detective does.

I supposed I should be grateful for the interruption. It did give me the chance to gather my thoughts.

I realised two things.

First, if I kept on hanging around with Zoe, I could already see that I'd be making my dentist a rich and happy man.

But, second, sadly, she did have a point.

When we were alone again, I looked over at her.

"When the CIA came calling, they were helpful enough to bring a file with them. Not enough to actually leave it with me, but I did manage to memorise a few facts. Some of them I've even managed to check out. Our man was in the Army. Special Forces I'm sure you'll be shocked to discover."

"Oh, utterly," Zoe drawled. "So you know his real name, then?"

"Yeah, not it matters. And, no, I'm not going to tell you what it is." 

She made a moue of disappointment.

Of course, it had been a bit more involved than just that. But armed with his picture and what I'd managed to glean from that dossier they'd waved in front of my face, I had known the right people to ask to get some answers, off the record.

"Anyway, he quit the Army. Snow, the spook I spoke to, claimed that he joined up with the CIA. Of course, I couldn't confirm that part."

"I might know someone who could help with that," Zoe said. "What name was he using then?"

"John Reese, according to the file. Not the name he was born with, but I guess that he's come to like it. Anyway, Snow said that John killed people for them, then killed his partner and went into business for himself. Of course, Snow also said that he wanted to talk to John -- just talk -- but that turned out to be a crock of shit. He had a man up on another roof with a rifle who took a shot at John. Hit him, didn't kill him."

Zoe was leaning over the table by this point, her expression a mix of worry and calculation. It was the most honest thing I'd seen on her face since I'd met her. "When was this?" she asked.

"December last year. He seems to be mostly recovered now." Though the sour taste of guilt, of my complicity in that debacle had yet to fade.

"And you were involved in this?"

I winced. Yeah, she was the type to pick up on that. "He was a criminal on the run. What was I supposed to do?"

I hated how defensive I sounded.

"Is that why you're helping him now?"

I stiffened. "I'm helping him because he's keeping people out of the ground and off my desk. People like you."

"And you," she noted.

"Look, as much as you're undoubtedly enjoying this, I don't suppose you could save the digs for later? Like, maybe, *after* you've given me something worthwhile. Which apparently is only going to happen after I've told you what I know."

For a moment, the spark of mischief in her eyes only brightened, but then it abruptly dimmed and instead she smiled warmly at me. "Sure, Detective Carter. I do apologise. You're right. You have brought the most to the table, so far."

"You're welcome," I muttered, a little thrown by the sudden about face. "Anyway, that's pretty much all I've got on John's history. His friend, Finch? Nothing."

"Do you think he might be someone John met in his Agency days?"

"Could be," I said. "Funny thing is, though, Snow didn't seem interested in finding out if John was working with anyone. Didn't ask me if I knew anything about a partner, didn't ask when he was up on the roof. So I'm guessing that they're after him for something he did or something he knows, not anything current. And if Finch were Agency, you'd think that they'd be interested in him too."

"So, how have you been helping him?"

"All kinds of ways. He regularly needs information on the target, or needs someone to come and arrest a perp. You say that he's only called on you once since your encounter with him," I couldn't help adding. "I guess having a friend in the police is a lot more useful than knowing someone who can do whatever you do."

She leaned forward again, and there was a glint of anger in her eyes. It was there just for a moment, but that was long enough to give me a twinge of satisfaction at getting my own hit in for once. She was completely calm when she said, "I thought we were saving the digs for later, Joss."

"Sorry. Couldn't resist it," I answered unrepentantly.

The waiter brought our drinks. I sipped my diet coke and wished it was something stronger.

Zoe waited for him to depart before continuing.

"So, what cases has he asked you to help out on?"

"He doesn't exactly give me the whole picture. Just asks for files and other help. Occasionally I manage to find out more, but not every time. But this is what I know," I said, then filled her in on what I could remember of John's requests. She pulled out a notebook and copied down details.

"So, what does that tell you?" she asked after I was done.

"His data's patchy as hell. Why he knows the things he does, why he doesn't know the things he doesn't... It's a goddamn mystery."

"I'll look into these, and see if I can find any connections from my sources."

"And I'll try and take better care about keeping track of what he asks me. Yeah, yeah."

Zoe looked down for a moment, and fiddled with her cutlery. "I may not have been entirely candid with you last time."

"Really?" I asked sardonically.

No shit.

She looked up again. "I said that there weren't any recent signs of the kind of movement of money and people that would be necessary to achieve the kind of results our friends have managed. But there have been. I've traced them. And the name that I came up with at the end of it was Elias."

She paused, watching me closely.

I sincerely hoped that she wasn't disappointed.

"You think that *Elias* is behind John? He *saved* me from an attempt on my life *arranged* by Elias."

"Which is awfully convenient if you want to build some instant trust," she said, more than a little cynically. But there was a flash of something at the back of her eyes that I didn't quite catch.

"He would have to care enough about me to bother doing it."

"You've come close to catching him," she argued. "That takes talent. Why waste that, when you could co-opt it?"

"Do you honestly believe that John is the kind of guy to run that kind of scheme?" 

Because I'd met him, measured him, and I couldn't. 

He was the kind of tarnished idealist I'd seen before, both in the police and in the army.

Idealists could be dangerous, no question, but not quite in that way.

There was that flash again, stronger, and this time I could see it for what it was.

"You don't believe that, either," I accused. "Why are you trying to feed me this line of bull?"

"I never said I thought that John was *working for* Elias. At least not directly," she said, still watching me, still looking like she was waiting for me to make the connection...

And I had it.

"You think that Elias might be providing him the intel?"

She nodded. "You feed someone like John a list of bad guys, and you turn them into targets. You feed him the *right* list of bad guys..."

"And you've got yourself a weapon. But it still seems like a needlessly bullshit way of going around things."

"Men like John aren't exactly common. And I don't know him *that* well, but he doesn't really seem like the kind of guy who'd be motivated by being paid off by a crime lord."

"And why waste talent, when you could co-opt it?" I quoted back at her, not bothering to hide my scepticism.

"Exactly," she said, apparently ignoring my tone. "And the timeline fits."

"That construction is as flimsy as *hell*, Zoe. You really want to run with this?"

"Well, from a more pragmatic point of view, you're already looking into Elias. And as for me, well, like I said, I deal in information. Some more facts about New York's latest crime lord wouldn't exactly hurt."

I paused for a moment, paranoia niggling at me again. "This wasn't some kind of twisty way just to get me to help you find out about Elias, was it?"

She assumed an angelic expression. "Would I *ever* be able to manipulate you *that* well, Joss?"

"I don't know. And that's what worries me."

She smiled, mischief flickering to life in her eyes. "I'll take that as a compliment, then." She made a face. "In all honesty, I was hoping that you'd come up with a better angle. Pretty much *any* angle would have done. But barring that..."

"The dynamic duo ride out to investigate the crime boss?"

"Something like that."

"So, you got any ideas about *that*? Because I hate to tell you this, but I've been chasing him for months and I haven't managed to get close yet."

"I'm not the great detective here, but given how smoothly he's managed to move into the power structure in New York, this isn't the first time he's done this."

"Yeah. I thought that too. But there hasn't been even a whisper about him until recently. Which means that he got his experience somewhere else."

"Precisely," she smiled. "So let's find out where that is, and learn a little more about how our mastermind thinks. As well as any out of town powerbase he can call on."

"I don't have the time to be chasing down a rumour like that. It's a large country and hunting Elias isn't exactly top priority down at the precinct. I'm going to need more info before I start a wild goose chase."

Zoe considered me for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. I'll see if I can dig anything up more concrete using my resources. You... keep on doing whatever it is you do."

"Earning an honest day's living protecting people, you mean," I said, then shook my head. "Look, we've got to come up with a better way of getting in contact. Me using a landline to call you? It's ridiculous."

She thought for a moment, then positively *grinned* at me. "Give me your phone a moment."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "What are you planning to do with it?"

Her voice turned sugary sweet. "Don't you trust me, Joss? I promise I won't hurt it. Just give it to me for a sec."

With dire suspicion, I did what she asked. She keyed in something, then handed it back. It was a cell phone number, under the name Morgan.

"And what is this?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "It's my number. If you find something out, or vice versa, we can text each other and arrange to meet up."

"What happened to all the paranoia? I thought that was the point of all this cloak and dagger stuff you've been putting me through."

"Well, we won't call it a meet. We'll call it a *date*." She smiled evilly at me. "That way, if anyone *does* check up, they'll have a fairly good idea about why you're keeping it on the down-low. As well as why you're using a surname that could be mistaken for a first name."

"Because I'm meeting up with a woman? Or because I'm meeting up with someone like *you*."

"Take your pick," she said, apparently unconcerned. "I imagine they will. And while they're doing that, they won't be looking for another explanation."

Well, that would be one way to tar and feather my reputation.

Being linked with Zoe Morgan.

Great.

Still, as I kept on noticing - unfortunately - she could be damned attractive when she wanted to be.

If utterly impossible.

Of course, I had a shrewd idea that one of the big pluses in her book was that it would give her free licence to needle me whenever she liked.

The thing was - I didn't have any better ideas.

"Fine," I muttered, putting my phone away again. "But the day I get enough time to actually get a date..."

"You'll probably have already put Elias away *and* have found out where Reese is getting his information from," she finished sweetly.

And the worst thing was that she was probably right.

Not that I had *any* intention of letting her know that.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days passed, and I had heard nothing from Zoe.

I had a hard time figuring out exactly how I felt about that.

On the one hand, it would fit the type of person she seemed to be *entirely* too well if she just had just taken the information I had given her and run, never to be heard from again. And if that was the kind of person she was, I was better off without her. I didn't need one more irritant in my life, especially one that I was unlikely to actually get anything useful out of.

On the other hand the reason I had reached out in the first place was still there.

And while I might have heard nothing from Zoe, I *had* been hearing regularly from John.

The thing that really decided me was the thought of turning up to a hypothetical next meeting with nothing to show. Just thinking about the expression she'd have - the barely concealed sense of superiority - was enough to make me feel aggravated pre-emptively.

So.

Without spending too much time, or burning too many favours, what could I find out?

I let the problem simmer for a few days before something did occur to me. 

John liked his explosives. In particular, he was rather fond of his grenade launcher. And ammunition for that really wasn't that common - it was illegal and not exactly favoured by much of the black market. Grenades tended to bring down a little too much heat for your average criminal.

There was probably a dealer or two in the city who could get a hold of them, but trying to trace where *they* got them from might be more profitable. 

I put out a few feelers out to some friends, and got them to arrange a discreet audit or two in the various local military bases. 

And then I tried to do the same for the police.

It probably shouldn't surprise me by this point that I had greater problems with the second task, but it did, a little.

There was still a part of me that wanted to believe in the police force like I had when I was younger - a force of law, of order, of making things right.

Kind of like how I used to believe in the military.

There was still a part of me that refused to believe that the police force I belonged to was actually more than a little tarnished, that we made do instead of made right.

There was still a part of me that was an idealist at heart.

Of course, the rest of me had to admit that *I* was more than a little tarnished these days, as well, and getting more so with each passing day that I kept quiet. That I was complicit with what John did.

I might have had friends in the military, but I wasn't a part of it any more, not really. I might have been a part of the police force, but I didn't have many friends there, not really. So, all in all, it didn't surprise me *that* much that I could check on military stocks without too much of a problem, but that I ran straight into a roadblock when trying to do the same for the police.

Even though a part of me insisted that it shouldn't be this way. That we should be better.

That we weren't... Well, that I knew on one level. Didn't mean I liked having my face rubbed in it, though.

Of course, I wasn't going to leave it there. 

But getting further, bypassing the chain of command, was going to take yet another compromise.

 

"Finch, you're the one who handles the computer side of things in your little operation, right?" I asked as soon as he picked up,

"A good afternoon to you, too, detective," he said in his usual way. Not answering my question, I noted.

"Well, I'm guessing that there's a reason you don't tend to ask me for electronic records. And, frankly, you hit the stereotype more than John does."

"You know what they say about stereotypes. Why the sudden curiosity?"

"I'm hoping that you brought me in as more than an errand-girl to get you the kind of records you can't find on a computer, or to arrest the bad guys you don't shoot."

"I trust that you're not speaking of your seemingly encyclopaedic knowledge of New York diners."

"Very funny, Finch. Very funny. It just occurs to me that I might be more use if you can give me the kind of access you have to the police system. So if I spot something off, I can follow it up right away." And it was true, as far as it went. There had been a couple of times when being able to do that would have been really damn useful. 

Of course, what passed for my conscience these days told me, I probably still wouldn't have actually asked for this without the additional push.

When I was already selling off my soul, one part at a time, to help stop people getting killed, taking that one further step into complicity, that one further step further away from my brethren in the force...

I hadn't been able to do it.

Apparently now I could, though.

Maybe it was because I could tell myself that it might help me catch some bad cops.

Or maybe it was just that I had already gone that one step too far.

"My, my, detective," he said. "Are you asking me to grant you admin level access to the city police computer network, as well as, presumably some way to cover it up? Wouldn't that be somewhat illegal?"

I winced. That zipped by a little too close for comfort. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But I know for a fact that the CIA thinks I might be in contact with you. And I wouldn't put it past someone in the department to be keeping an eye on me. It would help if I could avoid a trail that tells anyone watching that I'm interested in the same cases that you poke around in, *before* you stick your fingers in."

He hummed to himself for a moment. "You do have a point. I'll try and cook something up for you." A note of wry amusement entered his voice. "At what level should I aim this program?"

"Assume I'm an idiot, and go from there, why don't you?" I said sourly.

"I just thought that I'd make sure. End user status it is, then. I should have something ready in a couple of days."

"You going to include a customer service number in that package?"

"Very funny," he said, sounding amused. "Sadly, I don't think that you could afford the rates."

"I guess that I'll just have to go back to the manufacturer if I develop any problems, then."

"I'll contact you when it's ready. If there's nothing else...?"

"That's it," I answered, thinking: isn't that enough?

"Then, good afternoon, detective," he said, and hung up.

There. 

That hadn't been too painful, had it?

Only another portion of my soul, mortgaged off.

Another step to the dark side, or at least that of the murky grey.

For the greater good, I could only hope.

 

A few days later I had a USB stick and a set of instructions carefully given to me by Finch in that precise way of his.

I hesitated for a moment, then plugged it into my computer and ran the access program on the drive.

I was fairly sure that some people of my acquaintance would be thinking pithy comments about the Rubicon and shit, but that wasn't really me.

Besides, I'd been already crossing a few too many of those kinds of rivers recently anyway.

Nothing obviously happened.

Which was probably good - it wasn't as though I wanted a big flashy change in my screen to occur - telling all and sundry that I was about to embark on wrongdoing.

I did, however, have a lot more drives I could now access on the network.

Including all the armoury records for the various precincts.

According to Finch, after I exited the access program, the computer would revert to its previous state. So, following his instructions, I copied the files I wanted to look at later to the USB stick.

It should be a fun bit of bedtime reading. 

A good chance to exercise the little grey cells, matching records to receipts and trying to find the holes. 

And, best of all, it was something that I could do from the comfort of my own couch.

 

"Hey, mom. What're you doing?" came Taylor's voice from around the screen of the laptop, disturbing my contemplation of figures.

"Bringing work home for once. What's the problem, mind having me around?" I asked, looking up.

He grinned. "Not at all. I just wish..." he said, trailing off.

"You just wish what? That I hadn't commandeered the family laptop? That I hadn't heard your side of that phone conversation just now?" I asked to his evident mortification. "Or that I might actually get off my ass and cook us some dinner at some point?"

"Let's not get crazy now," he said, holding up a hand. "I like this place too much to let you in the kitchen just yet. Maybe when we need the insurance money."

"Is that how it is?" I asked, raising my eyes to the heavens. "Disrespected in my own house?"

"Well, there is a reason why we tend to have our family discussions in the diner."

"And everyone tells me how I have such a nice, polite boy. If only they knew," I mourned. "If only they knew."

"It's nice to have you home, mom. Would you mind..?" he asked, gesturing towards the TV.

"Sure," I said, making room for him on the couch. "It wasn't like I was getting anywhere at the moment, anyway."

He sat down next to me, and I leaned my head on his shoulder as he held up the remote and the screen flickered to life. The program failed to hold my attention - something with weird guns and people with odd features - and I found my attention drifting back towards the screen of the laptop.

He didn't complain as I started flicking again through files, making notes and muttering under my breath.

I might not have discovered anything concrete yet, but the impression that something was *off* lingered like a bad scent, and I was going to hunt it down and find out what it was, if it was the last thing that I did.

In the meantime, spending time like this, with my boy to one side, and our battered old couch beneath me-

Well, there were worse ways to spend an evening. A lot worse.

 

It took me a few more nights of working way past the time Taylor was banished to bed before I actually managed to find a discrepancy between the receipts of what we'd received and what was actually there. It took me another day until I actually managed to nail the details down.

The most damning of which was the fact that the Excel spread sheet showing the stock of the 27th Precinct was altered the day after I started making inquiries. 

To, presumably, one that matched the actual stock levels.

They'd managed to get most of the rest of the records too, but a few had slipped through the net.

Christ.

It wasn't just that cops were selling on weapons and ammunition, it was that they were so damn lax about it that they hadn't even bothered doctoring the records until I started asking.

And that meant there couldn't just be one dirty cop - there had to be several. 

Including either the guy I'd spoken to, or someone he'd trusted enough to tell.

I stood on the edge of a precipice.

Every one of my professional instincts screamed that I should do something about this.

I *should*.

But doing so, making enough noise that whoever was involved in this couldn't just cover it up, would mean that I'd have to reveal how I'd gotten this information.

Would destroy me professionally.

I'd be lucky if I didn't see prison time.

And I had the sickly feeling that even if a proper investigation did occur, it'd just nail one unlucky crooked cop.

One bad apple, so to speak.

And the people higher up the food chain would just go free.

On the other hand, I could just back down now.

Look the other way.

Be a part of the corruption, by omission, if nothing else.

Christ.

What was I supposed to do?

 

"Has my little program proved useful yet?" Finch asked at the tail end of a conversation about another client.

For a moment, I couldn't reply at all, as my gorge rose, filling my throat with the acrid taste of bile.

Oh, yes, I thought. It's been *extremely* useful.

"Not yet," is what I actually said. "An opportunity has yet to present itself." I tried for sarcasm, but I wasn't quite sure that I managed to reach it.

"You're a clever woman, detective," he said. "I'm sure you'll manage to figure something out."

"Thanks for the little tip," I said and hung up.

 

In the end, I did what I had to do.

It wasn't my precinct.

It wasn't my business.

In the end, I was a homicide cop, not IA.

And if I did see a way to alert someone without incriminating myself, I'd take it.

In the meantime, I'd just do what I could - solving murders, with a side order now of stopping them.

And wished to *hell* that I'd never opened this particular Pandora's Box.

 

The very next day, I got a text message from Morgan.

'Date night, tonight? 8pm,' and gave an address.

Just peachy, I thought, just peachy.

Time to see if Zoe had managed to come up with anything worthwhile.


	4. Chapter 4

Somewhat to my surprise, the place where Zoe had picked for us this time wasn't anywhere near as upscale as her last meeting place.

Hell, it didn't look much better than my favourite diner.

Not the kind of place I could imagine Zoe choosing.

Certainly not if it meant that I was going to be any more comfortable patronising it.

This was definitely some kind of ploy on her part.

Inside, the place was bustling and it took me a few seconds to locate Zoe, all the way in the back. By this point, a waitress was in the process of approaching me, plastic smile in place.

"Meeting someone already here," I said, and she instantly lost interest as she noticed a customer in her section trying to grab her interest.

As I approached, I could see that Zoe was, again, distinctly dressed down for our little evening out.

"Jeans again, Ms Morgan?" I observed as I walked up to the table she was sitting at. "Y'know, a girl could start to think that you're not taking this date seriously."

Though she'd been following my path since I'd come through the doors, there was still a split second pause before she replied. Then her face lit up in a sardonic smile, and she said, "Just trying to live down to your example, Joss."

"Hey," I said, almost offended. "I'm wearing a suit here."

'If you can call it that,' the doubtful expression she gave me indicated. But all she said was, "I wine you, I dine you and *this* is the thanks I get?"

"You were expecting anything different?" I asked as I sat down.

Her smile changed into something that looked more genuine. "No. I guess not."

Either I'd somehow managed to charm her in our past meetings or, in addition to her other talents, she was a damn good actress.

I was betting the latter.

I picked up the menu and studied it, using the opportunity to try and get a gauge of the woman opposite.

The difference between this and our prior meetings wasn't exactly subtle.

Something was up.

Even it was just that she'd decided to try a different way of messing with my mind.

I thought about telling her what I'd discovered about where John was getting at least some of his supplies, but I couldn't quite force the words out.

Not even to try and maintain some kind of parity with her, because I couldn't imagine that *she'd* have called this meeting without something to offer.

"So," I said after the waitress had been by to collect our order. "What have you managed to discover?"

"Well, I talked to my friend at Reese's former employer. He couldn't tell me much about Reese apart from that he seemed to have been shuffled from project to project and region to region during his tenure there. Which apparently could well be a sign that he *was* black ops."

She took a sip from the glass in front of her.

"Snow is a different matter. From what I've been able to discover, he's worked with Reese on at least one project - Auburn Dawn. Officially, this involved gaining financial intelligence on various Chinese companies. Unofficially, scuttlebutt has it that this meant gaining long term assets inside the Chinese business community - sleeper agents."

I snorted a little.

"No offense, but that kind of work doesn't really seem like John's forte."

"I don't know," she replied mildly. "I mean, he's managed to gain us already. Probably others as well."

Which, yeah. Maybe she had a point there.

"That's a big ball of sunshine," I said a little sourly. 

Not that I hadn't known he was playing me, on at least some level. But to have it described quite so baldly, like I was nothing more than another foreign agent for him to tap...

Yeah, that did nothing to aid my unease with the whole thing.

"Still," she continued. "It's exactly the kind of brief that gets used to mask a black project. Long term goals - which means that no immediate results are expected. And this particular one involved a lot of flying around the world, allegedly to follow the Chinese corporations."

"And I can't exactly imagine the spooks hiring someone with John's talents to just talk to people."

"Well done, detective. Snow, interestingly, was only assigned to New York a couple of months ago."

"Just after I'd flagged John's presence by running his prints," I interjected.

She shrugged. "Officially, he was reassigned to take over some existing projects run out of the New York office."

"I thought that the CIA were supposed to keep their noses outside of the US," I muttered.

"Just think," she said lightly. "The CIA being involved in something *illegal.*"

I rolled my eyes at her. "Get on with it."

"Apparently, his reassignment was not exactly standard. Sudden. Ruffled a few feathers, too, as a couple of people who had been supervisors now weren't. No one important, though, and the operations he's handling don't exactly add up to a full time job."

I whistled. "Someone really wants John, don't they?" Because, yeah, that wasn't subtle in the slightest.

"So it would seem."

"Get anything else?"

She looked at me with amusement. "Trust me, just getting that much cost me a significant favour or two. But, as it happens, I did manage to find out some more information. About our other project."

"You talking about Elias?"

She nods. "It looks like he spent some time down the coast. Miami, to be exact."

"How did you find that out?" 

"I didn't go up and ask him, if that's what you were wondering," she said, giving me a droll look. "I'm not stupid enough to get that close. But apparently he brought some people with him. And I've managed to hear some of the stuff they've been saying. Through some friends of friends."

"So what did you hear?" I asked, still cognizant of the fact that she hadn't really tried to mess with me since I'd got here.

"This and that. The most important thing I've got for you is a name: Catherine DeSilva. Apparently she worked for him during his time in Miami."

"I can look up her records, see what I can find out. But I don't exactly have any friends down that way."

"Pity," she said. "So I imagine that what you'll get back is going to be fairly limited."

"Yeah, unless..." I narrowed my eyes as the pieces fell into place. "*That's* why you've been so damn reasonable this evening. You want me to go down to Miami to check this out. More to the point, you want to come with."

After all, she had to know that there was no way that I'd actually work full time, even just for a few days, with someone who was *just* a constant irritant.

Apparently, she'd decided to try and show me that there was more to her than that.

And, finally, *there* was that damned smirk of hers. It was almost a relief, seeing it slide into place. "You *are* the great detective, after all."

Only problem was, I still wasn't convinced.

"What makes you think I want your help?"

She gave me a challenging look. "I think I've proved that I have useful skills of my own. And wouldn't you feel better with someone watching your back?"

"Mmmm," I said, looking her up and down. "I guess *that* depends on who that someone is."

"I can take care of myself quite well enough, Joss, trust me."

"That's the point, Zoe, I don't. Trust you, that is."

She looked at me, eyes narrowed, for a moment, then her face relaxed and she nodded. "Sure. If that's the way you think, there's nothing I can do to change your mind," she said, pleasantly.

That was... far too easy.

I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop when the food arrived.

And this time, unlike on our last 'date', the waitress didn't seem to think we were having any kind of 'moment'. 

Thank god.

She didn't seem to want to stick around any longer, though.

"Dig in," Zoe said, still in that agreeable tone. "You wouldn't want dinner to get cold."

I shrugged to myself, picked up my fork and started attacking my food.

"So," she asked. "How was your day?"

I shot her a flat look, but she just looked genuinely interested. "Trying to catch a break on one of the cases I'm working at the moment. Managed to get enough to get one of them cleared. Pretty much normal." Well, that and a bit of quick research for John, but I didn't really count that as news.

She hummed to herself. "Busy, then?"

"If the brass doesn't keep us rushed off our feet, they start thinking about who they could reassign elsewhere," I said, and gave her a quick smile.

The rest of the meal went like that. 

Honest to god small talk.

Nothing about Elias or John or anything connected to that whole mess.

Despite myself, despite the fact that I was pretty damn sure I knew what she was trying to do, I found myself relaxing a little.

It... actually felt good to just get away from all of that, for a while.

And even if Zoe very adroitly kept the attention on me, I couldn't bring myself to care too much.

I actually found myself regretting the end of the meal, when she gave me a semi-apologetic look, and said, "So, Joss. Have you made up your mind about whether or not you're going to go down to Miami?"

So. Bargaining time.

"Do you honestly think I make enough money as a cop to be able to just fly down to Miami and rent a room for a few days? Not to mention expenses?"

She gave me a half sardonic, half amused look. "Is that a roundabout way of asking me to fund this?"

I shrugged. "You're the one with the fancy threads. I'm just a single mother, trying to earn an honest wage. You tell me."

"I guess you have me there," she said, dryly. "Fair enough."

"Look, I'm going to be honest with you. I'll do it if I can. But I'm honestly swamped at the moment, and I *need* to get my stats up. Taking a holiday right now... it won't look good."

And now she looked honestly amused. "Well, I do like to help the police where I can," she drawled.

Yeah, I just bet you do.

"I wasn't asking for any help," I said, a little shortly. "I can handle my own cases myself."

She shrugged. "Sure. But what's your opinion on CIs?"

"What do you mean? I use them. Pretty much every cop who can, uses them."

"Well, if you can give me some details, I'll see if I can dig anything up. Purely as your CI, of course."

"If you even think about double-crossing me on any of these..." I threatened.

Huh. That wasn't the 'no' I was going to say. 

Apparently, I was actually considering her offer.

She held up her hands. "I wouldn't dream of it, detective. It'd be rather counter to the point, after all."

I thought. 

It wasn't as though I couldn't use the help. Saving people was great - really, it felt like I was doing something really positive with my life again - but it took up time. And arresting attempted murderers didn't help my position on the wall any, sad to say.

"Look, the thing is," I told her. "I still don't know you. Sure, you give me hints and shit. But actual facts? Pretty sparse on the ground."

She played with her glass. "What exactly are you suggesting?" she asked slowly.

"This is our third official date," I told her with a grin. "Isn't it time that you took me back to your place? Just in case anyone's watching."

Her eyes sparkled. "Why, Joss. I would have never thought that you'd be so..." she leaned close to me. "Forward," she breathed.

I shivered slightly.

"Hidden depths, that's me," I managed.

She drew back, and considered me for a moment or two, then her jaw tensed. "Okay," she said slowly. "You're on." 

She drained her glass, stood up and offered me her hand.

"Come on, then."

 

"My humble abode," she said as she opened the door and stepped inside.

Yeah, humble abode, my ass.

About as humble as she was.

It was in a part of town too expensive for me to even walk the streets, unless I was on a case.

And her apartment wasn't one of the cheap ones, either.

Solid, light wood floors (pine?) and white walls, dressed in glass and steel. The kind of semi-industrial, semi-artsy construction that tastefully whispered 'highly-paid interior designer'.

It probably cost more than I'd earned in my life.

Inside... inside wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting. 

I wasn't exactly sure what that had been, but this wasn't it.

"You actually live here?" I asked, looking around the clean, sterile surfaces, the empty spaces aesthetically unfilled, the only objects seemingly placed to create an impression.

I'd seen show homes that felt more lived in than this place.

She smiled, but her expression was a little tight around the eyes. More vulnerable, somehow, than I'd seen her before. "Take your shoes off. I wouldn't want you to track dirt into the place."

"Might give it some character," I muttered, though not loudly enough for her to hear. 

And then, like a good little cop, I obediently took my shoes off and put them in the nook alongside various pairs of much higher quality shoes, all of them immaculate and neatly arranged.

My mind frankly rebelled trying to imagine her cleaning her own shoes the way I did, at the end of each day, but seriously? She had her cleaner take care of *them* as well?

Yeah, I definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore.

"Sit down over there," she said, gesturing to the sitting area. "I'll get us a drink. And then we can *talk*, can't we?"

The sitting area was as spartan as the rest of the place. I mean, sure there was a sofa and a couple of chairs. (A matching set upholstered in soft white leather.) But there wasn't any sign that anyone other than her actually had used them.

Who *were* you, Zoe Morgan?

What lurked beneath your glitzy facade?

What did you live for, apart from just making more deals, staying afloat in the seas of your professional environment?

Why were you helping John, much less me?

The woman herself came over, holding two glasses of wine aloft, one of which she handed to me.

"Trying to get me drunk?" I asked as I took a sip. Not really my kind of thing, but I could handle.

Maybe there *was* nothing else to her.

"How else am I going to have my way with such an upstanding member of the New York police force?" she asked a little archly.

Nothing lurking beneath the surface she showed to the world.

"I'm not sure you've got *that* much alcohol in this place."

And I wasn't sure whether that made her less dangerous, or more.

"So," she said. "Why did you want to get invited back here, detective?" She smirked. "Assuming that it wasn't my many charms, that is."

I shrugged, and tried the truth. "If we're going to be working together, I wanted to get more of a sense of who you are. What you're like when you're not in the public eye."

She hunched her shoulders a little and affixed me with something that was very nearly a glare. "Happy with what you see?" she asked, and I had to give her credit that she didn't sound more defensive.

I thought about saying that I *still* wasn't completely sure that this wasn't a place she had rented for the occasion, but that was some humour that might not go down too well just now.

For one thing, I got the feeling it'd cut a little close to the bone.

Instead, I gave her a lopsided smile and said, "Honestly? Looks kind of like I'd imagined. If you have any secrets, then they're hidden from me."

Tension seemed to flow from out of her shoulders, and she sat a little further back on the sofa.

"I don't suppose you've considered just asking, Joss." 

"Would you tell me if I did?" I asked, a little dubiously.

She offered me a serene smile. "You'll never know unless you do," she said.

"Well, a start would be what you're planning with regards to Miami. Because you gave up *way* too easily with that."

"You said that you didn't want to work with me. But you can't exactly stop me, say, renting a room on the same floor as you, and conducting my own investigation in parallel."

I winced. "Haven't you ever heard about too many cooks? Trust me, with investigations, too many is any number greater than one."

"Well, if you want to keep an *eye* on me, then I guess you'll know where I am. Detective."

"Yeah, yeah. You've made your point. If I manage to free up enough time to make this little field trip, let's work together."

"Excellent, Joss," she said, leaning over to clink her glass against mine. "I *knew* that you'd see it my way."

I didn't tell her that if I'd really objected, I'd have found a way around the problem.

Even if it was just beating her to the punch.

But, after this, after she'd let me into her life, however little that had actually been...

I actually felt a little comfortable around her.

Enough to work with her.

At least that much.

God help me.


	5. Chapter 5

In prep for my meeting the very next night with Zoe, I needed to gather all the info on my current cases, to see if she could help me with them.  
  
I was firm enough on the rough outlines, but details can matter.  
  
The problem was, there's no way I was going to cart all the case files out of the door with me at the end of the day.   
  
Beyond the fact that I wouldn't trust her anywhere near them - certainly not yet - it'd be a big, damn red flag for anyone who saw me.  
  
I just didn't do that kind of thing.  
  
Of course, that meant I was going to going to have to do something else I didn't normally do.  
  
In this case, the best I could think of was going through the files, making notes hardcopy, in an actual notebook.  
  
Real old school.  
  
My partner, Fusco, sat at his desk, across from me, squinting at me suspiciously like some kind of gargoyle.  
  
"Hey, Carter. What're you doing?"  
  
Calm, I thought.  
  
"Going over my case load. Thought I'd see if writing it down shakes anything loose," I said.   
  
Casually, like he was a recalcitrant witness I was trying to loosen up a little.  
  
"Huh," he said, eyeing me more for a moment more before he snorted, adding, "How's it working out for you?"  
  
I shrugged. "I'll let you know."  
  
  
"My mother told me not to talk to strangers," Taylor said as I wound down the window of my car.  
  
I suppressed a wince.  
  
Among my many sterling qualities, being able to let go of anything, especially a case, wasn't among them.  
  
"She sounds like a fine and sensible woman," I said, refusing to let any of this show. "Now, get in the car, smartass. The diner is calling."  
  
And lately- well, my latest hobby of helping out Reese and Finch wasn't exactly helping anything.  
  
He laughed, and hopped in.  
  
Taylor was a great kid, somehow, despite my failings.  
  
"You're in a good mood," I observed.  
  
But every time the topic came up, however tangentially, I couldn't help feeling like I should be doing more.  
  
Somehow. Though this business with Zoe on top of everything else wasn't making things any easier.  
  
"So, we're not having another experiment in home cooking tonight?" he asked, and I didn't have to be a trained interrogator to notice the evasion.  
  
"I thought that would make you happy," I observed drily. "So, how was your day?"  
  
He ducked his head, smiling, but said nothing.  
  
Clever boy.  
  
"Saving that for later?" I asked.  
  
"What fun would you have if I just gave up the goods right at the start?" he asked, but he couldn't help the grin peeking out.  
  
Not *that* clever then.  
  
"So, Clara, then," I surmised.  
  
"Mom!" he protested.  
  
I shrugged. "Goes with territory. Did you finally ask her out?" I asked, keeping an eye on his reaction out of the corner of my eye. "No?" I paused for a moment. "Did *she* ask *you* out?"  
  
"You're entirely too good at this," he complained, but he was clearly too happy to put force behind it.  
  
"So, when's the date?"  
  
"Friday."  
  
I hummed to myself. "Well, you know when curfew is." I didn't need to add that I *would* be checking.  
  
"Can't you give me an extra hour? Please?"  
  
"I'll see," I said. "I guess it depends on how good you are up until then."  
  
He gave a theatrical sigh and stared out of the window.  
  
Well, that showed me.  
  
Time to bite the bullet about the potential trip.  
  
"Hey," I said, a little awkwardly. "Would you be alright staying with Grandma for a few days if I have to make a trip out of town?"  
  
He twisted his head back around in my direction, but didn't quite manage to meet my gaze.  
  
"Work," he said more than asked.  
  
Great. Now I felt like even more of a heel.  
  
But I couldn't take him with me if I was heading down to Miami.   
  
Quite apart from the fact that it might well take time out of school, having him around while I poked into the background of one of New York's most dangerous criminals...  
  
No, it was just a bad idea.  
  
"Something like that," I said.  
  
I saw him frown a little at my equivocation. "Something like that?" he asked in a sceptical tone of voice.  
  
Sometimes I wasn't sure whether to feel proud or annoyed that he was getting so good at the whole bullshit detection thing. As well as being far smarter than I was.  
  
I settled for feeling both at once.  
  
"Yeah," I said. "It's... complicated. And definitely nothing I'm going to be sharing with you," I added before he could pry further.  
  
I recognised the look he briefly shot me - one far too similar had often been on my own face.  
  
This was not over yet.  
  
I pulled up opposite the diner, and decided to change the subject. "So, do you know where you'll be going on Friday yet?"  
  
He ducked his head, and suddenly *he* was on the defensive instead.  
  
The natural balance of the universe had been restored.  
  
  
"Are you good to see yourself home?" I asked after we'd managed to polish off dinner.  
  
"I think I can manage," Taylor said. "Why? What are you off to do?"  
  
"A date," I said sourly, my son's new romance reminding me all too much of what Zoe had to say on the subject of my own prospects.  
  
Shit.  
  
I'd said that out loud.  
  
"Really?" he asked, sounding by parts shocked and curious. And maybe, god help me, even a little bit hopeful.  
  
Damn it.  
  
I wished I could call back my words, silence them before they were ever spoken. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I wished for it, I didn't spontaneously develop the ability to rewind time.  
  
Guess I'd just have to work some damage control.  
  
"No, not really," I clarified quickly.  
  
Possibly a little too quickly, judging from my son's expression.  
  
"Good," he said, squeaking a little, then he cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean, good. It's been forever, hasn't it?"  
  
Yeah, I could still remember that little disaster.  
  
Same old story.   
  
Not enough time for the job and Taylor, let alone a relationship too.  
  
And, to a stab of shame that still felt sharp, there had been one night when I really should have been there for Taylor, and I hadn't been.  
  
As far as that whole sorry episode was concerned, forever wasn't long enough.  
  
"Look," I said, reaching over the table to rest my hand on his. "It's really nothing you have to worry about." Because it wasn't. "And it's not a date. Just a... bad joke. Between the two of us."  
  
Of course it was.  
  
Just because Zoe was attractive, didn't mean...  
  
Wait, wait, wait.  
  
What?  
  
Zoe was attractive? As in, *I* found her attractive? As in, on some superficial level I was attracted to her?  
  
Son of a *bitch*.  
  
That was a complication I so did *not* need right now. The thing with Zoe was messed up enough as it was without adding some hormonal attraction into the mix.  
  
Goddamn it, Joss! Who's the teenager here?  
  
But Taylor was studying me all-too-thoughtfully, and he had that little crease in his forehead that told me he still wasn't completely convinced by my denial. "I'm bigger now, Mom. I can look after myself better now."  
  
And that just about broke my heart.  
  
"Yeah, well," I said, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat and striving to speak in a normal Mom-like tone. "Trust me, this ain't someone I'm going to start anything with. Even if I was in the market, which I'm not."  
  
"Whatever you say, Mom." Lord, when had he become such a romantic? His face suddenly brightened. "Is he something to do with this mysterious trip out of town?"  
  
I cursed him mentally as I took just a little too long to respond. "Something," I grudgingly allowed, knowing that this battle, at least, had already been lost.  
  
"Cool," he said. "So, when am I going to get to meet him?" he asked with entirely too much glee.  
  
"Sometime shortly after never," I told him bluntly, trying to signal the end of this particular conversation. "Now, if you'll actually eat up your dessert, I can run you home and actually get to my meeting on time."  
  
I was all too well aware of why I hadn't corrected his mistaken use of the male pronoun.  
  
If I had, well, it might have made sure that he wasn't under any misapprehensions regarding my relationship with Zoe.  
  
On the other hand... Taylor was entirely too perceptive for his own good sometimes. Certainly for *my* own damned good.  
  
And it would be just my luck if he'd somehow figured out that my sexuality wasn't always exactly rock solid.  
  
Because, yeah, that was a conversation I was never planning on having with him.  
  
It had always been easier to just let him assume.  
  
Let everyone assume.  
  
I mean, there had been his father. And after that, in the army, well it wasn't as though any of the women so inclined would exactly look at an army widow.  
  
And I was more than happy to let that state of affairs to continue.   
  
I loved my job there, until I didn't, and I hadn't wanted to do anything to jeopardise it.  
  
And afterwards, no time, no opportunity and, anyway, it wasn't like I needed to make my life in the force any *more* difficult.  
  
So, yeah.  
  
Taylor looked like he was going to give me some more grief about my 'meeting', but luckily the ice cream distracted him, and I gave a silent sigh of relief.  
  
It really didn't get any easier when they got older.   
  
It just meant that they were smart enough to get themselves into yet more trouble.  
  
Like mother like son, I supposed.  
  
As I watched Taylor put away his ice-cream with an enthusiasm and capacity that only a teenage boy could manage, my mind kept turning over the thoughts that my conversation with him had brought to the surface, picking at them as if at a loose scab.  
  
Until now, I thought that I'd managed to well and truly bury that side of myself, the part of me that was attracted to women.  
  
I hadn't asked and hadn't told.  
  
And it had been fine.  
  
Completely fine.  
  
Until, well...  
  
I rolled my eyes at myself.  
  
This was just ridiculous.  
  
It wasn't as though Zoe was actually making a move on me.  
  
She was just trying to play me, that was all.  
  
So I found her attractive.   
  
Whoop-de-doo.  
  
Big fucking deal.  
  
I'd found other people attractive, and never had a problem ignoring that, and working with them.  
  
It wasn't like it was going to change anything.  
  
I wouldn't let it.  
  
  
"Joss," Zoe said as she walked up to the table I was sitting at.  
  
She was being normal.   
  
Completely normal.  
  
By which I meant that she didn't seem to be flirting with me at all.  
  
But was that really normal for us?  
  
"Zoe," I said, just about resisting the urge to shake my head at myself.  
  
This kind of running around in circles wasn't doing me any favours at all.  
  
"What have you got for me, then?" she asked after sitting down.  
  
And, yeah, I couldn't help following the movement, waiting for the sting in the tail, the attempted manipulation that I couldn't seem to find.  
  
This was getting damned ridiculous.  
  
It wasn't even about finding her attractive.  
  
It was more like... It was damned awkward, whatever it was.  
  
"You don't have to butter me up any more," I told her, abruptly tired of whatever game she was trying to play tonight. "I've already agreed that I'll work with you down in Miami. You don't need to keep pretending..." I threw my hand up in the air. "Acting like you're a reasonable human being."  
  
Her eyes widened theatrically. "Why, detective. Are you asking me why I haven't been *flirting* with you?"  
  
I didn't bother answering her question, just glowered in her direction.  
  
Her smile just grew even bigger. "If I didn't know better, I might even think that you've been enjoying it."  
  
I shrugged. "Don't go flattering yourself. I just like keeping things more honest."  
  
Her smile turned wry. "Now who's flattering themselves? Still, with that kind of talk, you'll positively turn my head, Joss."  
  
And, weirdly, this was better.  
  
With her like this, so transparently manipulative, it was easier to remember why I didn't like her, didn't trust her.  
  
"I doubt whatever I could say would have *that* much impact on you," I said dryly. "First, it'd have to get through that considerable ego of yours."  
  
"It is like a shield of steel," she agreed. "So, were there actually any cases that I could try and help you with, or did you invite me here just for the pleasure of my company?"  
  
I pushed the notebook towards her, opened to the appropriate page. "Guess."  
  
"Hmmm," she mused, running a finger down the first page, before flicking her eyes back up towards me. "*Good* writing, Joss."  
  
"Surprised?"  
  
"The police in my experience tend to have writing more like doctors. It's far easier to fudge the details if no one can understand what you've written."  
  
I could feel my expression stiffen. "Think that says more about the kind of police you've been hanging around with."  
  
And, yeah, the reminder of the corruption that I'd come close to still stung.  
  
I didn't need to, didn't want to, know any more.  
  
There was almost something of an apology in her eyes as she said, "I guess I'll have to be more discerning from now on."  
  
I tried to relax.  
  
A little.  
  
Didn't really work, but at least I tried.  
  
What was I doing here? I asked myself again.   
  
With her?  
  
I didn't have any good answers as I watched her leaf through the notes I'd made, occasionally asking me questions, clarifying points that I hadn't fully elaborated on.  
  
And, yeah.  
  
This was the Zoe, insightful, intelligent, sharp, that was *far* more dangerous.  
  
This was a Zoe that I could actually be interested in.  
  
If it wasn't so impossible.  
  
For any of a thousand different reasons.  
  
So I pushed, grumbled, even flirted a bit myself.  
  
Reminded myself of all the reasons even entertaining these thoughts was a really bad idea.  
  
And it worked.  
  
Mostly.  
  
  
The next few days were busy.  
  
Really goddamned busy.  
  
There was my normal casework.  
  
There were the occasional calls from Finch and Reese, asking me for this and that.  
  
And then there the almost frequent messages from Zoe, giving me information, leads, angles I hadn't considered or hadn't had the time to follow up fully.  
  
I couldn't even begin to imagine how much this must be costing her, how much work she must be putting into this.  
  
I did the things I did, followed the paths I did, because they were the high probability courses of action, the ones most likely to give results.  
  
I couldn't help wondering how much she must be paying, how many people she must be pulling favours with, to help me this much, this quickly.  
  
I wouldn't ask, though.  
  
Just accepted what she gave me.  
  
If she ever wanted to hang this over my head, she'd let me know quickly enough.  
  
And I'd be free to tell her to shove it if the price was too high.  
  
Still.  
  
This was going a bit above and beyond a reasonable price for the help of a police detective for a few days, no matter how good she might be.  
  
And that started making me nervous all over again.  
  
  
"Lieutenant," I said as I approached his desk.  
  
"Detective Carter," he said, eyeing me cautiously. "Good work on getting your stats up."  
  
"Thanks, sir. I was hoping that I could take a few days of leave this weekend."  
  
"Leave, Carter? I didn't think that you knew the meaning of the word."  
  
I shrugged. "Things to do."  
  
He smiled, suddenly. "Something to do with that kid of yours? How is he, anyway?"  
  
I didn't bother correcting his misapprehension. And it was always easy to talk about Taylor. "He's doing well. Studying hard, not staying out too late."  
  
"Uhuh. So what's he getting up to behind your back?"  
  
"If there's anything, he's managed to hide it from me so far."  
  
"Kids have a way of doing that to you," he said in a voice of long experience. "Okay, Carter, since you've been putting those extra hours in recently, I'll approve your request."  
  
I relaxed. "Thank you, sir."  
  
As I wandered back to my desk, I passed Fusco, who was watching me. "So, you're going to be leaving me at the coalface this weekend."  
  
"Hey, maybe if you got your own stats up, you could relax with your own family this weekend."  
  
From what I could tell, Fusco was a good cop when we had worked together, but his wall was in even worse shape than mine had been.  
  
He waved at me. "Maybe if I had a better partner, I'd have a better rate."  
  
I felt a prick of guilt, stabbing me a little.   
  
He'd only been working homicide a few months.  
  
Maybe I hadn't been helping as much as I could have done.  
  
First I'd been chasing John, and then Elias as well.  
  
And now...  
  
Yeah, well.  
  
Still, the lieutenant hadn't seemed to be having any problems with him, so who was I to argue?  
  
And Fusco had a smirk on his face, like he was just giving me shit.  
  
So, in that spirit, I said, "It's a bad cop that blames his partner, Fusco."  
  
"So, whaddya doing this weekend? If it's a game or something, maybe I could swing by if I manage to get things finished around here. Give your boy some extra support."  
  
I gave him a grin.  
  
I was always happy to be buttered up by interest in Taylor.  
  
Still.  
  
There was the way he asked it, almost a little too casually.  
  
It probably didn't mean anything - was probably just a product of my guilty conscience...  
  
But still...  
  
"Nah," I told him. "I just have to pop out of town for a few days. Just the two of us."  
  
Which had the added advantage of being technically accurate.  
  
"Where ya going?"  
  
"Down the coast a ways. Figured that we both needed a little holiday."  
  
"Nice," he said appreciatively. "Hey, maybe we could arrange another trip later in year. I've got a boy, too, and it might be nice to get away from it all for a bit, y'know?"  
  
And, as far as I could tell, he was being completely sincere.  
  
And, yeah, it might be nice to relax with my new partner out of work for once.  
  
"Thanks, Fusco," I told him. "Yeah. Let's definitely do that sometime."  
  
Fusco might have his quirks, but I think I could really get to like him.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

For once, I managed to catch sight of John before he got within arm's reach of me. I was torn between wanting to celebrate and irritation at myself - this should *not* be such a damn rare event.

"Detective," he said, apparently unperturbed at being caught out. 

Hell, maybe he'd let me catch him on purpose.

John may have been Army in a past life, but he seemed far more spook than military these days.

"Got the information you asked for," I said, leafing through my notebook to the appropriate page.

"That a new habit you've picked up?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I gave him a sour look after finding my place. "It's not like I can keep taking files out of the station. Especially when they're not my cases. Sooner or later, someone would start asking me the kind of questions I can't answer."

Besides, this way I could keep better track of what John and Finch asked me. 

See if I could make sense of what was happening that way.

"If anyone gets ahold of that notebook, those kind of questions might come up anyway."

I gave him a grin. "You think your cases are the only ones I'm keeping in here? I've started making notes on everything."

"Oh?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Seems to be working out for me." I started going through the details of the latest guy that needed rescuing before flipping my notebook shut. "By the way, I'm going to be out of town this weekend."

"I see," he said, casually.

Possibly *too* casually, I thought, studying him narrowly.

Almost like he'd been expecting that...

"You knew that already," I said.

He took a moment too long to answer. "Why would-" he started.

"Don't bother trying to deny it. You knew," I said, my voice rising. "You knew because you've been keeping an eye on me."

He stopped trying to talk, just staying silent and looking at me as words kept on spilling from my lips.

"How the hell am I supposed to trust you if you won't return the favour? Even show me the most basic level of respect? Keeping tabs on me! Where do you-"

"You're right," he said quietly.

"What was that?" I asked, not quite able to believe my ears. John actually budging on something wasn't exactly a common occurence in our relationship. Not so far, anyway.

Maybe I should get vocally pissed off with him more often.

"You're right," he repeated, louder. No apology in his tone, of course. That would be way too much to hope for. "You were hunting me. And then you were in trouble. So we... put some measures in place. To keep an eye on you. Some we removed afterwards, when we'd foiled Elias' attempt on your life. Others..." he shrugged. "I'll talk to Finch about removing them."

It was hard to remain mad after being reminded that he'd saved my life. And that was without him mentioning that I'd almost cost him his shortly thereafter.

"Yeah, well... You better," I said. 

And, yeah, he damn well better count on me bringing this up again at a later date.

"Though I can't promise that I won't be keeping an eye on the precinct." At my look he added, "You should know that better than anyone. One of the task forces looking for me operates out of there, and two of the others haves used its resources in the past."

I guessed he had a point, but the thought of keeping an eye on my fellow cops curdled in my stomach. I knew what he was - a vigilante - and I knew just how dangerous he could be.

But what he was doing - what *we* were doing - was important.

That was what I'd decided.

That was what I kept on telling myself.

"I'm not going to ask you to get involved with that side of things," he said, almost gently. "There are more important uses of your time. Of our time, too. I just thought you should know that it's a possibility. For the future."

Weirdly, he made that spiel sound like a peace offering. And it helped, a bit.

It did.

At least enough for me to push the rawest of my emotions back into their box for the moment.

"Are you still willing to continue this arrangement?" he asked.

I thought for a moment.

He sure wasn't giving me anything like the big picture.

And spying on me? He and Finch had messed up big time with that one. Worse, now that I knew they would, how could I ever trust them not to do it again in the future?

On the other hand...

On the other hand, the reasons I started helping them in the past were still valid now.

And it wasn't like I hadn't known that they weren't exactly big on the whole privacy thing. Well, except how it applied to them - they made no bones about keeping *that* kind of info under wraps.

"Yeah," I said, slowly, reluctantly. "Yeah, I'm still with you."

"Good," he nodded. "We'd have a harder time doing this without you."

And, as I left, I tried to bury the fact that, just for a second, one of the reasons for sticking with John had been-

If I split, I wouldn't have a reason to see Zoe again.

Because that would be ridiculous.

That would be pure bullshit.

 

I hugged Taylor like my life depended on it, then reluctanctly released him.

He hunched over and patted his ribs, wincing and wheezing exaggeratedly.

Clown.

(Despite the worry churning in my gut, I did crack a smile, though. A small one.)

"And remember," I told him. "Don't think I won't be checking up on you. Just because I'm going to be in a different part of the country, it doesn't mean that my phone is suddenly going to cease to exist."

"Yeah, yeah, mom. I understand. No staying out late. I have to make sure to do my homework," he said. Affecting a little boy's voice, he added: "And no hanging out with *girls*. Urgh!"

I rolled my eyes at him. "I think *that* ship sailed some time ago. And don't think I'm not going to be asking some hard questions about your date when I phone tomorrow."

He glanced down, uncomfortably. "Thanks, mom. Just what I needed - extra pressure."

"Hey," I said. "She asked *you* out. That means that *she's* the one who's going to have to impress *you* tonight."

He gave me a skeptical look. "Sure. That's *just* how it works."

"Well, I don't know the girl - yet, and you better plan on rectifying that soon - but I'm willing to bet that she's currently sweating bullets over this. Trust me, it isn't any easier from the other side."

"Speaking of which..." he drawled. "How's *your* big night shaping up?"

Now it was my turn to look uncomfortable. Even though I knew full well what he was trying to do. "I already told you. It's nothing like that," I said.

"Sure, Mom. Whatever you say." But his eyes betrayed him, flicking away rather than savouring his victory.

I reached over and touched him lightly. "Really. You can trust me."

He attempted a smile. "I do, mom. Really." He shrugged. "And I do know that you should be able to have your own life," he said. "If you can ever find time to fit it around your work life," he added with a fair amount of sarcasm.

"Ouch," I said, then added, "But?"

It was his turn to fiddle with his hands again. "I guess that maybe I haven't gotten over your last attempt as much as I'd like."

"Oh, honey," I said, leaning over further to catch him in another hug. "I promise. Nothing like that is happening. It's really just... a project that I have to handle."

"But you like him," Taylor said, against my hair. "I can tell that you like him."

Her, I corrected internally. I liked her.

But it didn't matter. After all, Taylor was only one of a number of reasons why anything with Zoe could never work out.

Even if it was one of the big ones. Maybe even the biggest.

"Yeah. Maybe," I said. "But that doesn't mean that anything is going to happen. You're my number one, Taylor, always."

I felt him relax against me. "Thanks, Mom."

"No problem."

He levered himself away from me. "Even if it is past time that you put yourself out on the market again."

"Thanks."

"I mean, you're not getting any younger."

"Really. You can stop any time now," I said. "Especially as I really do have to be off."

He gave me a final wave, then got out of the car. 

I followed him as far as my mother's door, then rested my head on the steering wheel momentarily.

Well, that told me, didn't it?

Not that I had ever seriously considered anything... but even at my age, I was well aware that the sweetest fruit was the forbidden one.

Christ.

That had been *just* the conversation I had needed before going to meet Zoe at the airfield.

 

"I can't believe you've actually got your own plane," I grumbled as I settled down into the seat.

It wasn't a big thing - a two seater with barely enough room for a couple of large bags in the back - but big enough for our purposes. 

And certainly enough to remind me of the gulf in income between me and Zoe.

Zoe flashed me a smile, then resumed checking her instruments. "A girl can't want her own little slice of freedom?"

The plane wasn't new, either - unlike everything else of hers I'd seen, this had the patina of having actually being used.

"Freedom? I've never even seen you drive a car around, just be driven around by a guy in the front."

"That's convenience," she said, flipping a switch down, then flipping it up again. "And image. Image is very important in my business. This," she gestured around her, "This is just for me."

"And nothing to do with the fact that it makes getting around the country fast without leaving too many tracks a hell of a lot easier," I said sarcastically.

"I guess it has fringe benefits too," she said blandly. "And aren't *they* coming in useful now?"

I found the dashboard suddenly fascinating. "Had a talk with John yesterday. Turns out - he and Finch have been keeping an eye on me."

Zoe's head whipped around so fast that I thought she might get whiplash.

"Seriously?" she asked, all humour gone.

"He said that it was just remnants from the past. From when I was hunting them, and when they performed 'Operation: Save Carter's Ass.' But, y'know," I shrugged.

Just because John had said that, didn't make it true. 

If nothing else, no matter how little I knew, it was still probably enough to put a serious crimp in their operation.

"If it helps, they saved me too. Though I had my house swept afterwards, not to mention changing my phone."

"Yeah. Well. Maybe I'm just not paranoid enough for this line of work."

Analytically, I knew it made sense. It all made *perfect* sense if you used to work for the CIA.

But on a gut level... I still had problems believing that John and Finch were spying on me.

I mean, I could, but...

Damn it, John was just too likeable for a spook.

Zoe took a moment to reach over and grip me lightly by the arm. "Don't worry, Joss. That's what you've got me for," she said with a wink.

"That supposed to reassure me in any way?" I asked wryly.

"If it does, then I'm doing it wrong," she said, releasing my arm, and going back to doing the pre-flight checking. 

I glowered at her half-heartedly, but couldn't stop my lips from curving upwards. Just a little.

Which, of course, only seemed to increase her general level of amusement when she glanced back over towards me, a moment later.

Damn it.

And, yeah, maybe I did have to admit to myself that the touch had felt nice.

*Damn* it.

On occasion, Zoe could be entirely too charming for my own good.

"Buckled up?" she asked.

I indicated the belt loop, tied securely around my hips.

"Good," she said, then radioed the tower.

A few minutes later, we were speeding down the runway, going faster and faster, until, with a bump and an accompanying lurch in my stomach, we were airborne.

I found myself looking across the cockpit, at anywhere apart from the outside.

It wasn't that I had a particular problem with flying, but I had *not* missed travelling in light aircraft.

And the first and the last few minutes were always the most interesting. 

Unless we were very unlucky.

And then I was just looking across the cockpit because I'd caught sight of Zoe's face.

It was radiant, with a kind of open, unshielded *glee* that was the furthest thing from her usual polished exterior that I'd ever seen.

Zoe, apparently, really had not been exaggerating when she'd called the plane her little slice of freedom.

And, *damn*, she looked good flying.

It wasn't until we were up in the air that the walls came back up, that she glanced over in my direction.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was actually blushing a little bit.

I thought about poking at that, but instinct - and possibly a touch of mercy - urged me not to. Instead I went with, "Take many people up in this plane, Miss Morgan?"

"Oh, yes," she said insincerely. "Tons. Honestly, I'm thinking about changing my line of business."

Just then the plane dropped precipitously as turbulence hit it. After managing to recover my stomach from my throat, I croaked, "Don't give up the day job just yet."

She flashed me a sharp-edged grin. "Oh, this? This is the *best* part, Joss," she said and deliberately jinked the craft.

"I hate you," I murmured.

She smirked and returned her full attention to flying.

Thank god.

And it was a little while later that I found myself looking forward to Miami, and not nearly so bothered about New York and the whole complicated mess that was still waiting for me when I got back.

And, yeah, some of it was the anticipation of finding out more about Elias.

But also...

Somehow, at some point, Zoe seemed to have acquired the talent of making me feel better, in her own, unique, way.

Yeah, Zoe was *dangerous*.


End file.
